Johnlock Porny Ficlets
by bloodsoakedleather
Summary: A series of short, smutty, unrelated Johnlock ficlets written for freesmut thursday, red pants monday and any other occassion that might necessitate a small slice of pure or not so pure smut. John watches while Sherlock demonstrates a particular talent.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** First in a series of short, smutty John-centric ficlets written for watsonsdick & freesmut thursday on tumblr.

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**EROTIC BEYOND BELIEF**

"Fucking Hell."

John's groan was long and low, starting as a soft rumbling in his chest and rising steadily to his throat, in search of escape. Sherlock was absolutely stunning and utterly shameless, stark naked on the bed, bent almost double with his spine curved so his shoulder's were all that supported him, feet placed somewhat awkwardly either side of his head, hips positioned just above and his beautiful long hard cock dangling between, painting his lips with his own dripping pre-cum.

"Christ. You look fucking gorgeous like that." He said, reaching out a hand to gently caress first one perfectly plump arse cheek, then the other. Sherlock's thighs quivered and he made a small whimpering sound. "I don't think I've ever seen anything sexier." He paused briefly. "Suck yourself for me."

Sherlock obediently stuck out his tongue, licking his lips clean, and then tilted his head up and took just the tip between them. John moaned softly. Sherlock stretched his arms out for balance, bent his knees as much as his body would allow without causing more discomfort than his level of arousal could compensate for and lowered his hips just a fraction, sucking the head of his cock fully into his own mouth.

Both men moaned. John couldn't look away. Sherlock was a vision, erotic beyond belief and his cock gave an appreciative twitch. He was harder than he could ever remember being and aching for attention but he resisted the urge to touch himself, knowing he would very likely cum straight away if he did and he didn't want to cum before Sherlock.

"So fucking sexy." He murmured, continuing to caress Sherlock's lovely arse, fingertips dancing lightly over the flawless pale skin of his buttocks, occasionally dipping between in search of darker skin and a smattering of soft downy hair.

Each time he felt the fluttering of John's fingers against his hole, Sherlock would moan around his mouthful and flex his muscles, wordlessly urging him to do more than just touch and when at last, he felt a finger breach his hole and curl against his prostate his whole body began to tremble. His hips jolted of their own volition, causing his cock to slide deeper into his mouth and he growled out his pleasure.

"You like that don't you?" John rasped. "You like me fingering your arse while you suck your own prick." Sherlock nodded, frantic but shallow, the best he could manage in this position and still keep sucking. "Are you ready to cum?" Sherlock nodded again, as before. "Then do it. Cum for me, and once you've gotten your first taste, lean back so I can see you shoot the rest all over your pretty face."

Sherlock's strangled scream was positively obscene, as where the wet, slurping sounds he made as he sucked himself to orgasm. John could tell exactly when it hit him by the way his body jerked and his eyes rolled back into his head as the first load hit the back of his throat. Then, just as John had instructed, he let his head fall back onto the bed, gasping for breath as he continued to cum in thick, heavy spurts across his lips and cheekbones and even his hair.

John raised himself up on his knees as soon as he saw that Sherlock was spent, placing one arm over the backs of his thighs and the other against the small of his back, easing him carefully back down on the bed so he wouldn't hurt himself.

"John." Sherlock whispered hoarsely. "You… I… I want…"

John looked down to see Sherlock eying his prick hungrily so he took himself in hand, aimed his cock at Sherlock's open mouth and started to wank himself off. In hardly any time at all he too was cumming hard and fast and swearing beneath his breath.

"Fuckfuckfuck…"

Sherlock was able to catch most of it on his tongue and what he missed joined his own, forming abstract pattern on his skin. John leaned down and kissed him softly.

"That… was… amazing. You… missed… your calling." He said, his words punctuated by gentle laps of his tongue as he cleaned Sherlock's face of spunk really quite thoroughly. "You… should've… gone into… porn."

Satisfied that he hadn't missed a drop, John collapsed on the bed beside his lover . Their eyes met briefly and they both started to chuckle.

"Well, perhaps next time," Sherlock said, his voice still somewhat shaky. "we should make a video."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** You may have noticed a title change, from Freesmut Thursday Ficlets to Johnlock Porny Ficlets. I've done this so that I can include red pants monday, various prompts, smut that won't fit into actual stories and any attempts I might make to write myself out of writers block through porn.

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**JOHN WILL NEVER KNOW**

Sherlock lay back on his bed, lifted the red pants to his face, buried his nose in them and inhaled deeply. The musky, sweaty, masculine odour filled his nostrils and his prick, already stiff with anticipation gave an appreciative twitch. If John ever discovered that Sherlock quite regularly stole his worn pants from the washing basked and used them as a masturbatory aid he'd probably be horrified, certainly shocked and embarrassed, maybe even a little bit disappointed in his friend but since the likelihood of John ever finding out were slim to none Sherlock wasn't the least bit concerned.

He sniffed the pants again, moaning softly as he closed his eyes and tried to picture John wearing them. He'd never actually been treated to that undoubtedly splendid sight, but since becoming flatmates both men had unintentionally caught one another in various states of undress on numerous occasions so it wasn't hard for him to imagine.

Sherlock had spent more than enough time staring at John's clothed and un-clothed behind and a not quite equal amount of time sneaking furtive glances at his rather generous bulge in front to know that the pants would be a little bit tighter than was strictly necessary and that thought alone gave the detective a lusty thrill. He imagined the red fabric pulled taut as it hugged his roommates perfectly plump arse, he imagined it stretched tight and struggling to contain the thick cock and heavy balls that John had been blessed with and he imagined john sitting, peeing, adjusting his jeans and all the other things he might do while wearing them that would cause them to absorb his scent.

Another long, deep sniff and his cock jerked violently. It was time to move this along. Sometimes he wanked while sniffing the pants and imagined he had his nose buried in John's pubes as he slurped hungrily on his gorgeous prick. Sometimes he imagined himself with his face between John's glorious arse cheeks, licking at his tight hole, teasing until it was loose enough to allow Sherlock's tongue entrance. Sometimes though, and this was one of them, he imagined those arse cheeks spread wide for him, the hole already loose and open and stretched around his throbbing cock as he pounded into it over and over.

He lowered his hand and wrapped the red pants around his aching, leaky prick and began to stroke.

"John. Oh God John." He moaned as he moved his hand up and down, the pants acting as a substitute for the man himself. "Fuck. Feels so good."

He worked his hand slowly at first, almost lazily, biting his lip and gently squeezing the base of his cock to stay his orgasm and make the moment last. But it had been well over a week since his last red pants wank, John had looked and smelled particularly delicious when he left the flat that morning and Sherlock was, not to put too fine a point on it, horny and desperate for relief. He soon gave up any attempt to draw out his pleasure and started tugging furiously at his prick.

The rough friction of the pants against the sensitive, un-lubed skin of his dick was incredible and he imagined taking John dry. Hardly good practice he realised but this _was_ just fantasy.

In no time at all Sherlock had brought himself to the very edge of climax and just a few more tugs saw him topple in spectacular fashion, his whole body convulsing wildly, his cock pulsating as he spilled his load into the pants, soaking them in cum and moaning over and over.

"Johnjohnjohn."

It took some time for the post orgasmic haze to clear and for Sherlock to find the energy to move.

He held up the pants for inspection and grinned, oddly pleased with himself and his substantial load. After a moment he turned the pants over in his hand until he found a small dry patch and proceeded to clean his stomach of the random stray splashes of semen that the pants hadn't caught. Once done he swung his legs off the bed and sat up. He grabbed a pair of threadbare socks from the floor, shoved the pants inside to hide the evidence, rolled them into a ball and tossed them into the bin. Then he got up.

He took his dressing gown down off the back of his bedroom door, wrapped it around himself and headed to the bathroom. Not before taking an identical pair of red pants from a box underneath his bed to replace the once he'd ruined though.

John would never know.

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**Reviews appreciated**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **The obligatory stag night fic, more angst than porn.

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**TOO LATE**

Sherlock had never given even a moments thought to how he wanted his first time to go. If he had, it most certainly wouldn't have been like this, bent over his favourite chair, trousers round his knees, face smushed into the cushions, fingers griping his bony hips so tightly they would undoubtedly leave behind bruises while he was fucked roughly from behind by a man so drunk he wouldn't even remember what he'd done come morning.

And yet, that was what was happening right now and for Sherlock it couldn't be more perfect because the man fucking him, the man taking the virginity he'd previously regarded with complete indifference was the soon to be married John Watson and Sherlock was utterly in love.

Drunk himself, all his higher brain functions thrown into disarray, he wasn't quite sure what had led them to this point or who had made the first move. He just knew that this felt right to him, so incredibly right and he wouldn't change it for anything in the world.

"Harder." He rasped out between huge gulping breaths. "Fuck me harder."

John obliged, just as he always did, always giving Sherlock everything he wanted, doing everything Sherlock told him to do without question because he… Sherlock didn't actually know why John did anything at all for him but as he felt the grip on his hips loosen and John's hands smoothing across his arse cheeks he just felt grateful.

John slapped each cheek hard, leaving a vivid rosy handprint against the pale, creamy skin and causing Sherlock to whimper and moan. Before the sting could fade, John grabbed large handfuls of the tender flesh and squeezed firmly, spreading Sherlock's arse cheeks and opening him up even more. He pulled back until just the head of his cock rested inside Sherlock's hole and then he snapped his hips forward and plunged back into Sherlock's sore and aching but oh so willing body with enough force to shift the chair forward several inches.

"Yes." Sherlock cried out, wrapping his arms around the back of the chair and clinging to it for dear life. "Yesyesyesyes, just like that, don't stop."

John didn't stop. He kept up his brutal pace, pounding into the man beneath him over and over, tearing and bruising inside and out.

It hurt. It hurt so much more than Sherlock ever could have imagined. A virgin arse, little to no preparation and only spit for lube, of course it was going to hurt, Sherlock had known that it would but this… this was beyond painful. It was excruciating, white hot, searing agony and it was fucking beautiful, everything Sherlock had wanted, everything he had begged for in spite of John' many doctory protests. He had wanted it to hurt, he wanted it to go on hurting, he wanted it to never stop hurting because he knew this was the one and only time he would ever have John this way and he wanted to keep the memory with him always, to not be able to lock it away in his mind palace when the pain stopped being physical and it was just his heart that still ached.

"Jesus Sherlock." John muttered behind him, his voice rough with passion and breathless from exertion. The sound of his name falling from John's lips in such intimate circumstances was like the most exquisite music, just one more facet of the memory he wanted so desperately to hang on to.

"John." He muttered back.

"Sherlock."

"Please."

Ever mindful, even in the midst of an ill-advised, drunken, pre-wedding shag with his best man, John reached around and took Sherlock in hand, wrapping his fingers around his aching prick and slowly stroking. Sherlock let out a strangled moan and pushed forward, thrusting his cock into John's fist then thrusting his arse back onto his cock. The duel sensations of pain and pleasure were more than his John-addled brain knew how to handle.

"JohnJohnJohnJohn." He sobbed over and over, orgasm beginning to coil in his belly, drawing his balls up tight to his body. One more powerful thrust and one more sharp tug on his prick and Sherlock finally succumbed. He came hard and fast, coating John's hand with his release, thick white ropes of semen splattering against the edge of the chair and dripping onto the floor beneath. His whole body trembled violently, uncontrollably . Unable to hold himself up any longer he collapsed, panting, into the chair, John's name still a whispered mantra on his lips.

John fell forward, pressing his chest against Sherlock's back, kissing, suckling, nipping at the flushed, sweat slicked skin of his shoulder.

"So good." He mumbled. "Taste so good. Feel so fucking good." His hips, which had stilled when Sherlock came, now began to move again, picking up pace rapidly until he was pounding Sherlock's over sensitised body just as hard as before. Maybe harder. "I'm gonna cum Sherlock."

"Yes. Oh God yes."

It didn't take long after that and when John did cum, deep inside him, Sherlock felt every twitch, every pulse, every spurt. John collapsed on top of him, crushing him, stealing his breath but Sherlock didn't care. He would happily remain here for the rest of his life, pinned by John's weight and impaled on his cock.

"You're amazing." John said softly, pressing a tender kiss to the back of his neck. "Have I ever told you that?"

"Once or twice." It took every ounce of willpower Sherlock possessed to speak those three words and not the three words he really wanted to say.

John chuckled, unaware of the inner turmoil Sherlock was currently feeling. Slowly, carefully he pulled out, gathered up his crumpled trousers and stood up. Sherlock protested the loss with a small unhappy sound and bit his lip to keep from begging him to stay there for just a little longer.

"I'm going to the loo." John said. "I need to clean up."

Sherlock nodded silently and watched as John stumbled drunkenly towards the bathroom. When he was out of sight, he struggled to his feet and gingerly pulled up his own trousers, clenching tightly so John's release would not leak out and wincing when the seam rubbed against his sore and aching hole. He smoothed out the creases as best he could with his hand, scrubbed at the cum stain on the carpet with his shoe until he couldn't see it any more then used the back of the cushion to do the same to the one on the chair.

When he was done he sat down, ignoring all the aches and pains that shot through his body and steepled his hands beneath his chin. When John came back he would find him nothing less than a model of composure, as if what had just happened between them had meant nothing, as if it hadn't rocked him to his very core and torn his heart to shreds at the same time.

It could have been so different he thought ruefully while he waited for John to return. If only he hadn't been so stupidly stubborn, so determinedly blind. They could have had the rest of their lives together and not just this one night but he'd scoffed at sentiment and resolutely ignored that which now seemed so obvious. John had loved him once. John had been his, all he'd had to do was reach out and take what was being offered, what he realised now he'd wanted from the start but had been to scared to admit. Instead he'd denied his feelings and dismissed John's. He'd lied to him. He'd betrayed him in the worst way, broken his heart then left him alone to pick up the pieces.

Now John was no longer his. He belonged to someone else. Mary had been there for him when Sherlock hadn't been. She'd brought joy back to his life and given him a reason to get out of bed in the mornings, she made him happy and although it hurt desperately to see them together, Sherlock would always be grateful to her for that.

Still, in his darker moments when he was alone in the flat and the ache in his chest threatened to consume him, he couldn't help but think back on all the missed opportunities. John had loved him once, and he had loved John back. They could have had something together, something truly amazing. Now, it was too late.

THE END

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**Reviews appreciated**


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